This Woman
by Min Daae
Summary: A short story on Eowyn's views of her marriage to Faramir and the changes that occur during said marriage. R&R, ONESHOT. Rating to be safe.


_A/N: A brief disclaimer and note to all readers/reviewers (and I hope that these go hand in hand)… First of all, no characters in this story belong to me. They all belong to Tolkien. The author. Except the story. Which kind of belongs to me, only not really, since I did not create the English language, and someone has probably already written this or thought of it somewhere in the world. Or something similar. But that's an argument for another time. On another topic, if there are glaring inaccuracies in this story, please feel free to point them out in a review, NICELY. I do not appreciate flames. But if there are small things in this story that you do not agree with – dates, perhaps, or certain ways I have viewed things – please be kind enough to let me have my freedom. It's called creative license, and is usually a good thing. Usually. I will let you use your excellent judgment in this matter. As usual, R&R, and since I am rambling, the story:_

Who is this woman?

She feels strange, unfamiliar, false, confining. This gentle, tame, smiling woman with no fire or spirit remaining. For all I've found these past three years, I feel that I've lost more than I will ever recover. I have lost myself.

Sometimes I hate him. When we go to these balls, receptions, or even the occasional visit to the palace in Gondor, I feel stifled, but more, when he introduces me to men: _"This is Éowyn, my wife, former shieldmaiden of Rohan, now the White Lady of Ithilien."_ Even though I know that his intent is all kindness, to help me meet new men and women, I can almost hear a gloating undertone that even he does not intend: "_This is Éowyn, my wife, shieldmaiden of Rohan that I have tamed." _I am just his pet now, his tamed lady. His tiger to show his prowess with. _I have tamed a fierce beast, look how strong I am! _But then I realize that he has always loved me, always provided for me and been faithful, through my violent fits of temper and stubborn refusals to obey some of his requests, or orders, and I regret my thoughts, and smile and curtsey like a true lady. I will play this part for him. For him.

But it is disturbing – somewhere along the way of pretending to have become a lady, heart, mind, soul and body for Faramir, I have become one. I picked up an old sword of Faramir's tucked away in a chest and found that I could not lift it. I could not wield it. I had forgotten the steps, the swordplay that had been second nature to me for so long. My muscles had turned to water with weeks of idleness. Terrified, I resumed my training straight away, demanding that Faramir teach me himself. I relearned all the movements I had known since childhood, but it was harder, I was clumsier with the weapon. I was horrified at myself. What had happened to me?

Even now, as I think over this in bed beside Faramir, staring up at the ceiling above me, I fear for myself. I am no longer Éowyn, shieldmaiden of Rohan. I am the White Lady of Ithilien, wife of Faramir. What kind of life is this for me, who once so feared the cage that even now I have locked myself into? But my spirit is gone, that fear is gone, and now I am content, _content _to live as the tame, ladylike wife I once feared to become. Perhaps it began with Aragorn, but it ended with Faramir and my falling in love. The first time I fell into his arms, melted to his first kiss, his first _glance, _I died inside. Éowyn of Rohan was dead. I was a lady now. I had left myself behind for Faramir. I had given up my free life for Faramir. I had become the women I had once scorned, who threw their dreams and their brains at the feet of the first handsome man they met.

But now that I considered it, turning the thought over in my mind, that didn't seem so bad. After all, I didn't need brains when I had a man to take care of me.

I rolled over and kissed Faramir's forehead gently, and looping my arms around his neck drifted off to sleep, content with myself at last. Éowyn's life was over, but the White Lady's life was only beginning.


End file.
